


Reverie

by gummybearsandscotch



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: M/M, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:55:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22049728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gummybearsandscotch/pseuds/gummybearsandscotch
Summary: "Are you going to write a lovely little song about this?" Geralt sounds bemused, smug, but Jaskier is far beyond the point of caring.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 112
Kudos: 3358





	Reverie

**Author's Note:**

> A quick little drabblet devoted to these two.

The room is torn apart. 

It's good that the gathering below them is rowdy, full of drink, because there would be no mistaking their acitivies if the other guests could hear them. If Jaskier is honest, the thought pleases him more than he'd like to admit. How glorious it is, to be mounted like a bitch in heat, to be so _thoroughly_ enjoyed by Geralt in a rare moment of downtime. 

"Are you going to write a lovely little song about this?" Geralt sounds bemused, smug, but Jaskier is far beyond the point of caring. 

The other man's fingers are knotted in his hair, pulling it so his head tucks back into the Witcher's shoulder as he ruts into him. The oil they'd used is rolling down his inner thighs, the preparation hasty and only just enough. It's _so good_ that Jaskier knows, with utmost certainty, that it is a sin that will thrust him right into the deepest bowels of hell. Perhaps Geralt will one day meet his end and seek him out when he arrives there, and splay him out to fuck for an eternity in the burning, blistering heat...

" _Jaskier._ " Geralt's growl breaks through his thoughts rather rudely. 

The bard tuts, casting a glare over his shoulder at Geralt even as the most pitiful little whine forces its way out of his throat. "What? Oh, gods... how am I supposed to listen to what you're saying when you're brutalizing me like this?"

The motion stops all at once. The cock in his arse stays buried deep, and he swears he feels it all the way up into his throat. "Brutalizing you." Geralt repeats slowly -- his voice is flat, unmoved by Jaskier's plight. "Is that what I'm doing?" The air feels tense and tight, a sphere constricted to only them, no hoots and hollers from the people below. 

Then, before Jaskier can rub enough brain cells together to answer his question, Geralt pulls them both up into a sitting position with Jaskier planted firmly in his lap. He slides down incrementally more onto the Witcher's cock, and even just that half-inch or so is enough to make his mouth drop open in a silent wail.

Then Geralt _moves_ , and it's like his spine is lit ablaze with white hot pleasure. Muscular arms wrap around him and hold him steady as he is taken, hole open and clenching around hard flesh, nails digging into Geralt's forearms as he curses again and again. What a sight he must be... grinding, gasping, blind and drunk with pleasure as Geralt's cock spears him open. 

He reaches down to twist the fingers of one hand in the sheets and pull roughly at the scratchy linen as his Witcher pumps a frantic rhythm into his body. It's barely enough to keep him anchored, but he needs something, needs to feel anything other than the mindnumbing friction of Geralt fucking into him. His cock bounces against his stomach, drawn up tight and forgotten for the moment while Jaskier shudders and spasms as Geralt pushes hard into that sweet spot deep inside of him.

"Th-That's right... you're _my_ brute, aren't you, Witcher? At least for tonight?" He gives a breathless laugh as Geralt growls into the nape of his neck and bites, cutting off the laugh and turning it to a high pitched moan. Those sharp teeth stay lodged into his flesh until he's quite sure the indention of Geralt's mouth will be there always, a scar made in a battle of lust.

 _No need for a song, Witcher,_ he thinks to himself, as one of Geralt's scarred hands slides up from his belly to wrap possessively around his throat. _The marks you leave are music enough._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! ♥️ Comments and kudos are very much appreciated!


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